


Prompt 27: Long Distance Comfort

by irrationalgame



Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [27]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfortween, Dubcon Mention, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prostitution, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27243952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalgame/pseuds/irrationalgame
Summary: Comfortween prompts from https://hurtcomfortex.dreamwidth.org/22946.html27. Long Distance ComfortPhone, text, Zoom, messaging, letters, other long distance communication. Being there for someone when you can’t be with them.Jimmy receives a worrying letter from Thomas.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949317
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	Prompt 27: Long Distance Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Set in S6 and discusses Thomas’s suicide attempt because apparently I’m not done writing about that.
> 
> And there’s only actually one letter in this, despite it being like 7k! Sorry!

Jimmy walked up the three flights of shabby stairs to his equally shabby rented room. It had been a long and tiring day; sweat and grease from the kitchens clung to Jimmy’s hair and clothes. He longed for a bath, but that involved boiling water and carrying it across the hall to the shared bathroom - a chore he was too exhausted to attempt until morning. He loathed being on the late shift - it was always chaotically busy and involved walking home in the middle of the night after; not a pleasant prospect in any part of London, never mind the run-down street of tenements where Jimmy was staying. Still, he was grateful for the job - the late shift at the hotel was a damn sight better than the other work he’d undertaken when he was homeless and starving and truly desperate.

He opened the door to find a letter on the mat - it must have come in the second post. The postmark said Ripon but Jimmy already knew it was from Thomas by the neat lettering on the front. A little bubble of excitement swelled in his chest - he’d get into his pyjamas and make a nice cup of tea before he sat down to read it so he could really savour the experience. He put the kettle on the stove and fingered the cream envelope - it had definitely been pilfered from an upstairs desk, the paper heavy and textured under his work-worn fingers.

Jimmy had never been much for letter writing himself but, for Thomas’s sake, he’d made an effort. It was mainly “I’m working here now” and “have you seen this film” or “tell me what’s going on there” - nothing very interesting or serious. Thomas’s replies were much more riveting, perhaps because Jimmy longed so to be back at the Abbey. And Thomas had a rather witty and scathing way of writing that perfectly captured the way he spoke - the letters always seemed to conjure Thomas’s very presence to Jimmy’s dingy rented room. If Jimmy let himself, he could imagine Thomas was there, standing next to the grubby little stove, a cigarette between his smirking lips. If Jimmy let himself he’d could imagine exactly how Thomas would talk or gesture or look in just his undershirt or how his lips would feel against Jimmy’s, hot and soft and pliable.

So Jimmy tried _not_ to let himself.

He failed fairly often.

Jimmy wasn’t always very prompt in his replies, mainly because he struggled for things to fill the lines. He didn’t want Thomas to know how pathetically empty his life was - working in a hotel as a waiter felt like a step down if he was honest and it left little time or money for any sort of fun. And definitely nothing about how, at times, he’d been so desperate he’d stood on street corners in his shirtsleeves and smiled meaningfully at those who passed by until someone inevitably pulled him into an alley and paid him to do things that should only ever be given freely and willingly.

Imagine that letter: _Hullo Thomas, I’ve been selling meself to men and women alike, so I can eat. How are you?_ No, Thomas didn’t need to know about that.

Thus, he found himself stretching the truth or even making things up just to make his life sound half-interesting. The Abbey and it’s grandeur and the petty worries of being in service seemed like a different world. As much as Jimmy hated to admit it, he actually missed everyone downstairs and the workplace camaraderie he’d begrudgingly been party to - there was no such fellowship to be found in his new position. People came and went too quickly, finding better jobs or moving away, and everyone scurried off home as soon as their shifts were done. They weren’t eager to socialise with Jimmy and in the strange loneliness of the congested city he’d become just another miserable face in the miserable crowd.

 _Miserable_ about summed things up.

But what was he to do? Anstruther had offered him his old job back but the thought of having to become her plaything again was too unpleasant to bear. Going to bed with her at Downton was supposed to be a means to an end, a way to get rid of her once and for all, but that hadn’t exactly worked out. And it had been so awkward, even before they were interrupted by his Lordship, to the point where she’d pulled a face and asked if she was too old to excite him anymore. Jimmy had plastered a smile on his face and lied - _I’m just tired, you’re beautiful as ever_ \- and imagined Thomas was in bed with him instead. It a seemed Jimmy had been prostituting himself for longer than he’d realised.

The kettle whistled, snapping Jimmy out of his reverie. He poured a cup of tea and quickly divested himself of his uniform, shivering in the cold of his room as he pulled on his damp pyjamas as swiftly as possible with clumsy, work-tired hands. He settled down in the one and only armchair, an ugly green threadbare thing that should’ve been chopped up for firewood about ten years ago, and opened his letter with a butter knife.

_Jimmy,_

_Glad to hear you are well and your new job_ _suits you. It must be interesting seeing all the bright young things going about their lives - you probably see lots of film stars! I know how you enjoy London so it seems right you’ve settled there. It must be nice to have your own place to live too._

_Things are the same as ever here except Grantham is looking to reduce the staff and it looks like I’m for the chop. I’ve been trying to find something else but there’s not much to be found. Who has an under-butler these days? If I was younger and braver I’d go to London like you but I’m afraid I’m passed that now._

Jimmy frowned - that didn’t sound good. He’d write Thomas and tell him to come to London and stay with him for a while, until he found a position. Of course, that meant Thomas would find out how Jimmy had been living, which was a little embarrassing, but it would be worth it to see Thomas, to have him here as more than just a fantasy. Jimmy had desperately wanted to go and visit him in Downton, but as of yet he hadn’t been able to afford the train fare or get the time off work. The letter continued;

_I find myself unable to see the future. I lack reason - I’ve never felt so lost in all my life. As much as everyone hates me here the thought of being forced out fills me with dread. Jimmy, I don’t know what to do anymore._

Now Jimmy was really worried. Thomas had been down on his luck before but he always had a plan or a scheme or something up his sleeve. And he’d never normally let himself be beaten like this. Something was very wrong.

_You might not hear from me for a while. I want you to know how much I’ve valued your friendship. I haven’t had many in my life who I’ve cared about and who’ve cared about me in return. ~~I miss you terribly, I hope you won’t miss me too much.~~_

_Find your happiness Jimmy, and never let it go._

_Yours,_   
_Thomas_

Jimmy jumped up, spilling his tea, and stood in the middle of his room in a panic. They’d been writing for months now and he’d never received a letter like this. This was no normal letter - it was a _goodbye_. Jimmy scrabbled around for some clean, or rather, less dirty, clothes and tried not to think about what Thomas might do as he hastily packed a valise. What he might have already done. He lifted his creaky old mattress and retrieved a brown envelope - it was stuffed with money -his savings. Jimmy counted it out; he had just enough for the train fare and to eat for a few days. He didn’t know where he’d sleep and if he’d have a job when he returned, but he’d worry about that later. He only had room for one worry at present; Thomas.

It was so late, or early, depending how you looked at it, that by the time he reached the station he only had a short wait before the milk train. Once in his third-class seat he tried to sleep, but found it impossible when he was so full of nervous energy. He bounced his leg and drummed his fingers on the windowsill until the man sitting opposite tutted and gave him a dark look, so he took to etching little patterns with his thumbnail in the wood of his armrest. When he got bored of that he smoked his cheap roll-up cigarettes end-to-end, filling the carriage with fumes. He normally had to ration the tobacco as he couldn’t afford more than a pack a week, but under the circumstances he allowed himself to indulge. When he’d lived at Downton he’d always been able to borrow from Thomas if he’d found himself short. Thomas had always looked after him.

_You know why._

So he smoked, and he stared out of the window as the smoggy grey and steel vista changed first to smart suburbs, then red-bricked cottages, then the green expanse of the countryside.

It was the longest three hours of his life.

York station, and after that Downton village itself, were unchanged - he spotted the lady from the post office making her way to work and the man from the _Dog and Duck_ smoking on the front step. He nodded a hello to Jimmy, as if he’d never been away, although Jimmy was probably half-a-stone lighter than the last time he’d been here. On his way up to the Abbey Jimmy felt like he was walking to the noose - his throat was tight and his heart was trying to burst through his chest. He knocked on the familiar blue servant’s door and waited - it occurred to him that he didn’t know what the hell he was going to say. If he was right about Thomas he might not have to say much at all. He hoped for anyone other than Carson, so of course it _was_ Carson who opened the door.

“James?” he said, then; “Are you here to see Mr Barrow?”

“Yes,” Jimmy replied.

“Well, I don’t know how you found out,” Carson said, waving him inside, “but he could use a friend now so I’ll allow it, despite the nature of your departure.”

“Thank you,” Jimmy said, playing along. “Is he - is he very bad?”

“Yes,” Carson said, gravely. “I’ve told the others he’s got flu. Only Mrs Hughes, Anna, Baxter and the footman Andy know the truth. I’ll take you up.”

They walked up the servant’s staircase in thick silence. When they got to Thomas’s door Carson turned and put a heavy hand on Jimmy’s shoulder.

“Steel yourself,” he said solemnly, “and remember he’s still alive, so there’s that.” It was the closest Jimmy had ever gotten to a kind word from Carson.

Things must be bad.

Jimmy swallowed down his fear and entered Thomas’s room. Baxter was sitting at his bedside, looking as tired as Jimmy had ever seen anyone. Her head snapped up when Jimmy came in, surprised, and she gave him a humourless smile.

“He’s not woken up yet,” she said quietly.

Jimmy‘s eyes were fixed on Thomas. He was in his undershirt, half-propped up with pillows, his face bloodless and waxy. Both wrists were bound with thick, white bandages. So he’d done _that_ then - Jimmy remembered Thomas telling him of a soldier under his care in the war who’d done the same thing.

“What happened?” Jimmy said grimly, both wanting to know and also _not_.

“We found him in the bathtub,” Baxter said. She delicately held Thomas’s hand and gently petted it. “He’d been a bit low but,” her words were punctuated with soft, stuttering sobs, “but I didn’t know it was this bad. He - he took a razor to his wrists. I just - oh, if I’d have been thirty minutes more!” She stifled a whimper with the back of her hand.

“But you weren’t, you found him in time,” Jimmy said, “an’ I’ll be forever grateful to you for that.”

Baxter nodded, mollified; “How did you know to come?”

“I got a letter from him yesterday - there were something just off about it,” Jimmy replied. “I didn’t know he’d done this but, well, I had an idea he might. I came as fast as I could.”

“He’ll be pleased to see you, when he wakes,” Baxter said. “He’s missed you.”

“Shouldn’t he be in the hospital though?” Jimmy asked.

“Doctor Clarkson came and stitched him up - he said it was a close call but he’d be better kept out of the hospital if possible, for his own good. Last thing he needs now is to be arrested.” Baxter stood up and stretched, yawning.

“Go and get some rest if you like,” Jimmy said, “I’ll sit with him.”

Baxter nodded and said; “Where are you staying?”

“Nowhere as yet,” Jimmy replied. He sat down in the seat Baxter had vacated. The room was warm, the glow of a fire visible through the door of the little burner, so he took off his cap and shrugged out of his jacket.

“I’ll speak to Mrs Hughes and see what we can do,” she said, and left, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Now that they were alone, Jimmy took Thomas’s hand and held it between his own. Tears pricked at his eyes - if only he’d been here and hadn’t gotten himself sacked, this never would have happened. And what did he get sacked for? To get rid of Anstruther, yes, but he’d bought her here with his stupidity and his determination to prove a lie. If he’d been here, he’d have known, he’d have noticed that Thomas was so depressed. Hell, he’d figured out from a letter what those who saw Thomas every day hadn’t been aware of. Perhaps if he hadn’t had to leave - perhaps Thomas wouldn’t have felt so alone - perhaps this was Jimmy’s fault. He closed his burning eyes against the tears that threatened to fall.

“J-Jimmy?” Thomas said.

Jimmy’s eyes snapped open to find Thomas’s pale grey ones on him, a look of disbelief on his face.

“Yes, I’m here Thomas, I’m here,” he said.

“Have I died then?” Thomas said, his voice rough.

“No, not dead, just hurt,” Jimmy smiled sadly.

“Oh,” Thomas said, then he started to cry, “oh I’m still here, I’m not supposed to be, this isn’t right. This isn’t _right_!” He pulled his hand away from Jimmy and made to get up, wincing, but thankfully he didn’t have the strength. “You should’ve let me die,” he sobbed.

“Don’t say that,” Jimmy shook his head; now he was crying too, “please don’t.” He got up from the chair and perched on the edge Thomas’s cot, throwing one arm around the under-butler. Thomas let himself be pulled into a hug, weeping into Jimmy’s neck. “I’m sorry I weren’t here, I’m so sorry.”

They cried together for a while, Jimmy clutching Thomas to his chest, Thomas limp and fragile in his arms. Eventually Jimmy’s tears subsided - Thomas had either fallen asleep or passed out unconscious. Jimmy wriggled until he was more firmly situated on Thomas’s bed, the pillows now propping him up, and held Thomas in his arms like one might hold a sleeping infant. If someone walked in - well, they’d be treated to a shocking sight, that’s for certain. But the risk seemed like nothing compared to Thomas’s need for comfort and Jimmy’s desire to provide it.

Jimmy must have dozed off - he couldn’t remember closing his eyes, but he must have as he was now opening them again. Baxter was patting his shoulder gently, trying to rouse him without disturbing Thomas.

“Did he wake?” she whispered, placing a tray of tea things on the bedside table.

Jimmy nodded; “He were awfully distressed, he tried to get up and he was crying.”

Baxter looked troubled by that. “Mrs Hughes is making up a room for you, she’s talked Mr Carson into letting you stay here. She said you’d want to nurse Thomas.”

“She’s right,” Jimmy replied. “I shouldn’t have ever left him before, I’m definitely not leaving him now.”

“It’s not your fault,” Baxter said. “This - it’s all our fault, us lot that were still here. He was trying so hard to be nicer, to get along with everyone but - it was hard for them to believe a leopard could change his spots. And then his job being at risk - I didn’t know he cared so much.”

“He’s - Thomas isn’t what people think,” Jimmy said. He knew Baxter was sympathetic as Thomas had written that they’d become friendly, but he didn’t know exactly how well she knew him. “He’s not all sharp edges and nastiness. He’s - he’s good and funny and clever and soft underneath. He’s bloody soppy when he wants. He can be so nice when the mood takes him, it just don’t take him very often.”

Baxter smiled softly, “That’s the truth.” Silence for a beat, then; “I’ve bought some tea and biscuits for you. I’ll bring you both a tray later, in case he wakes.”

Jimmy nodded his thanks and Baxter left. He wouldn’t risk waking Thomas to reach the tea things, so he sat in silence, feeling the reassuring rise and fall of Thomas’s chest beneath his arms.

Time passed; Jimmy only had a vague idea of it from the path of the sun outside the window. It was probably late afternoon or early evening as it wasn’t nearing dark yet but the shadows had lengthened. Baxter would be back with that tray soon no doubt.

Jimmy felt Thomas wake up before he saw it; the other man went still and rigid in his arms, his breathing irregular. Thomas twisted a little to gaze up into Jimmy’s face - he looked very surprised.

“Jimmy?” Thomas said with lips that were pale and cracked like old china.

“Yes, it’s me,” Jimmy said, smiling earnestly. He reached for a cup of long-cold tea and held it for Thomas to sip.

“I thought I’d dreamed you,” Thomas replied between mouthfuls of the tepid tea.

“I am dreamy,” Jimmy grinned and Thomas huffed a little laugh. “S’not really the time for joking, sorry.” He put down the teacup.

“It’s alright,” Thomas said, then; “why are you here?”

“Your letter,” Jimmy explained, “I came as soon as I read it. I knew somethin’ were wrong.”

“I was supposed to be...gone before you read it,” Thomas said - he stared blankly out of the window, avoiding Jimmy’s eyes.

“I guessed that, but I’m so very glad you weren’t,” Jimmy squeezed Thomas a little and petted his hair.

“I - Jimmy, I hurt,” Thomas said and his voice broke. “I hurt so much I - I can’t bear it.”

“I know my love, I know,” he said and the words escaped Jimmy’s lips before he realised what he was saying. He was tired and overwrought and he’d meant it, yes, but he hadn’t meant to say it.

 _My love_.

Because that was the crux of it all - Jimmy loved Thomas and he’d been too stupid and afraid to do anything about it. But there was no taking it back now, not at a time like this. This was a time for bravery, on both their parts.

Thomas had twisted around fully in his arms now, his grey eyes on Jimmy’s blue ones.

“Don’t - don’t say things you don’t mean to make me feel better,” he said. “It won’t help.”

“I didn’t - I won’t,” Jimmy shook his head. “I meant it - _my love_.”

Thomas fell against Jimmy’s neck and cried - Jimmy didn’t know how he had any tears left as he must’ve been dreadfully dehydrated. Jimmy shh’d and soothed and rubbed circles on Thomas’s back until the under-butler was lulled to sleep again.

Not long after Baxter reappeared with a tray - two bowls of steaming soup and some bread rolls. Thomas woke at the sound of clattering dinnerware, his eyes wide and afraid.

“Shh, it’s alright, I’m here,” Jimmy soothed, helping Thomas to sit up against the pillows but keeping an arm around his shoulders.

“You’re awake,” Baxter said - she leaned in and kissed Thomas’s cheek affectionately. “You should eat if you can bear it, it’ll help.”

“I’m not hungry,” Thomas said - he was staring blankly out of the window again.

“Then just have some fresh tea,” Baxter coaxed, pouring a steaming cup. She handed it off to Jimmy, who held it up for Thomas to sip. He took a begrudging swig.

“There, that’s it,” Jimmy said and Thomas gave him a dark look.

“I’m not a bloody child,” he spat, then shook his head, rueful.

“It’s alright, you’re out of sorts, I know,” Jimmy handed the cup back to Baxter. He pushed Thomas’s lank hair back off his brow and smoothed out his frown, his fingers still learning how to be tender. Jimmy was very aware of Baxter’s eyes on them, but Thomas had written that she could be trusted.

“Jimmy,” Thomas said quietly, one hand balling in Jimmy’s shirt, “I’m so tired. I can’t think.”

“Sleep then,” Jimmy said, “I’ll stay with you, I’ll keep you safe.”

Thomas nodded and closed his eyes - he was asleep within seconds.

“He’s very weak,” Baxter said quietly, “and ashamed, I think, of what he’s done.” She placed the tray on Jimmy’s lap so he could eat his soup with his one free hand. “Keep trying to get him to eat, or at least drink. The doctor said he needs the fluids.”

Jimmy nodded. He’d wasn’t much of a nurse but he’d do his best. For Thomas.

* * *

The next couple of days passed with much of the same; Thomas awake for a few moments, to cry or rage or sip tea, then asleep again in Jimmy’s arms. Jimmy was terrified of leaving him alone, so the room Mrs Hughes had kindly prepared went unused, except for Jimmy to wash and change every now and again, whilst Baxter or Mrs Hughes sat with Thomas.

Thomas was always worse when Jimmy had been away from him. Jimmy had indulged in a quick bath one evening when Thomas was asleep and had returned to the under-butler backed up into a corner of his room, shaking and cursing and refusing to get back into bed despite Baxter’s best efforts. He’d clung to Jimmy like a child to his mother, his head buried in Jimmy’s neck, tears wetting Jimmy’s clean shirt, and had passed out cold the instant Jimmy had deposited him into bed.

So Jimmy didn’t leave, unless nature called, as he couldn’t see a way around that.

Now that it was apparent that Thomas wouldn’t die from his self-inflicted injuries, Jimmy’s biggest fear was that he’d try to end himself again. He wasn’t fool enough to think that his mere presence was some cure-all that would undo whatever harm had been done to Thomas’s mind - that would take a lot of time and talking, perhaps to a doctor of some kind. But Jimmy could at least physically stop Thomas from doing it as long as he was vigilant.

While Thomas was asleep Jimmy had Mrs Hughes and Baxter help him silently search through his sparse room and take away the scissors, valet’s sewing kit, razor and anything else that could be used to cause harm. Thomas would likely be livid when he found out his room had been gone over, but it was a necessary evil.

On the third morning Jimmy woke to find Thomas already awake and fingering Jimmy’s jaw fondly.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Thomas said, his voice still sleep-rough.

“S’alright,” Jimmy smiled. He caught Thomas’s hand and pressed a kiss against it.

Thomas’s eyes went wide then he ducked his head, abashed. “Jimmy - what’s changed? This is - you’re so - different.”

Jimmy swallowed hard. Talking about feelings was not one of Jimmy’s many talents.

“I’ve had time to grow up for a start,” Jimmy began, “and a lot of time to think about everything that had happened between us. I - I was scared Thomas. Scared and foolish and - I didn’t know my own mind. And by the time I figured it out - that we’re more alike than I’d thought - I was miles away without a penny to my name and,” he took a breath - now he’d started he didn’t seem to be able to stop the words tumbling out, like they were desperate to escape one way or another, “and I was scared then that it was too late. So I just - I carried on. But I’ve been miserable Thomas, miserable and lonely and lost.”

“I’m sorry for that,” Thomas said sombrely.

Jimmy shook his head; “Don’t be - s’not your fault. I’m the one at fault an’ I have been since the beginnin’.”

“What are you saying Jimmy?” Thomas said, hesitantly hopeful.

“That I’m...I’m like _you_ ,” Jimmy had to look away then - it was still difficult to admit, even to himself, let alone another person. Especially if that person was someone he’d once tried to get sacked and arrested for the same thing. “And I - you’re so - oh Thomas,” Jimmy sighed and shook his head; he couldn’t find the words, so he leant in and placed a tentative kiss on Thomas’s cheek, then on his lips. Thomas didn’t move for a long moment; he was even holding his breath.

“Can I?” he finally asked against Jimmy’s lips - Jimmy nodded. Thomas kissed him back, soft and deep, and when they broke apart he was crying.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Jimmy said, “and I’m not doing this because I think it will magically fix you or anything. I just - I thought it was about time you knew how loved you are.”

* * *

Thomas managed to eat some soup that afternoon, though he vomited most of it back up immediately. He did a little better with the thin stew at teatime and better still with his toast the following day. Unless he was holding a spoon or a teacup, Thomas always had one hand linked with Jimmy’s, like it grounded him to be connected with Jimmy at all times.

Doctor Clarkson came and interrupted their mid-morning nap to check on Thomas and change his dressings. The Doctor implied that Jimmy should leave, but he feigned ignorance and stayed at Thomas’s side - he knew Thomas disliked Clarkson so he wasn’t about to leave him at the Doctor’s mercy.

“How’s he lookin’?” Jimmy asked, more to cut the uncomfortable silence than anything.

“The stitches have held and the wounds don’t seem infected. I’ll leave an ointment to apply every morning and evening and some fresh bandages - change them every couple of days. Can you manage that?” Clarkson asked.

“Yes, of course,” Jimmy nodded.

“Obviously Barrow will be weak for a good while - he lost a lot of blood. He’s lucky to be with us still. He has Miss Baxter’s quick thinking to thank for that. I’ll come back in a few days to check the wounds again but call if you’re at all worried,” he opened his case as he was talking and laid out packages of fresh bandages, gauze and a little glass pot of ointment.

“Stop it,” Thomas said suddenly, “stop talking about me as if I’m not here.”

Jimmy took Thomas’s hand and said; “S’alright Thomas, he didn’t mean anything by it, he’s just telling me so I know how to take care of you. Nothin’ more.”

“I meant no disrespect,” Clarkson said, to his credit. “Jimmy has the measure of it.”

Thomas glowered but didn’t speak.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” the Doctor said, gave Jimmy a nod and let himself out.

“I don’t like him,” Thomas huffed.

“I know,” Jimmy said, “but he’s only tryin’ to help. He could get in trouble y’know, for not reporting a crime so - try an’ be civil, alright?”

Thomas frowned but gave in and nodded.

They were disturbed again soon after by Anna and Mrs Hughes - the former carrying a tray of sandwiches and tea, the latter with some books, a crossword puzzle and pen, and a jigsaw.

“Miss Baxter said you were here Jimmy,” Anna said, clearing away the breakfast tray and replacing it with the luncheon, “it’s good to see you - are you keeping well?”

“Well enough,” Jimmy said - Anna was an alright sort, though he couldn’t imagine what she saw in Bates. “And congratulations,” he gestured towards her slightly rounded stomach. On anyone else you might not have noticed they were pregnant but Anna was so slight it was already obvious.

“Thank you,” she smiled sweetly, “a few months to go but we’re very excited.”

“And how are you, Thomas?” Mrs Hughes said, leaning in to kiss his cheek and pat his arm.

Thomas looked vaguely uncomfortable, “I’m - I’m still here so,” he shrugged.

“Well that’s something,” she said, “just take each day, each hour even, at a time. I’ve bought you some books and things to help while away the hours.”

Thomas just stared at the blanket so Jimmy chimed in; “Thank you Mrs Hughes.”

“Is there anything you need?” Anna said.

“A razor,” Thomas muttered and Anna gave a little gasp of shock.

Silence for a beat.

“No, thank you Anna, I think we are ok,” Jimmy said. He felt like someone had taken a razor to his insides.

“I refused to be shocked Thomas,” Mrs Hughes said finally, “and it probably doesn’t mean much to you but we are all wishing you well.”

“No, it doesn’t mean much to me,” Thomas said darkly.

Jimmy grimaced and interrupted before things could get any worse; “Thank you - Thomas is tired and needs a rest now.”

“Then we’ll take our leave,” Mrs Hughes said. She pulled Jimmy aside on her way out and said quietly; “Pay no mind, it’s wild talk born of his condition.”

Jimmy just nodded.

Once they’d left, their voices retreating down the corridor, Jimmy wordlessly climbed into bed next to Thomas and pulled him into an embrace. Thomas didn’t resist - he lay his head against Jimmy’s collarbone.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jimmy said softly, “I know you don’t really mean it.”

“Don’t I?” Thomas replied.

“No, you’re just hurtin’ an’ you always rail against the world when you’re hurtin’,” Jimmy caressed Thomas’s hair. “If you were ever in a bad mood you’d make trouble just for the sake of it.”

“When did you get so wise?” Thomas said.

“When I decided to be with you,” Jimmy grinned and Thomas couldn’t help but smirk a little. “Actually I take that back, I’ve always been clever.”

“Hmm, is that so? What about that valentines you sent Anstruther, how clever was that? Or that jam incident. Or Ivy?” Thomas quirked an eyebrow.

“Alright, alright,” Jimmy laughed, embarrassed, “I don’t need a potted history of my stupidity, thank you very much.” Although he was actually pleased; that was the most Thomas had said to him since he arrived.

“I smell awful,” Thomas said suddenly with a grimace, “but I don’t much fancy a bath after - after my last one.”

“What if I get in with you?” Jimmy suggested. “Would that help?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” said Thomas with a faint smirk.

It took some time and a little coaxing to get Thomas to the door of the bathroom. Jimmy had been inside himself several times so he knew it had been scrubbed clean, but Thomas had been using a bedpan (that Jimmy had diligently emptied - if _that_ didn’t speak volumes as to his affection for Thomas, nothing would) until now.

“S’alright,” Jimmy rubbed Thomas’s back with his free hand - his other was full of clean pyjamas, towels, cigarettes and a new bar of soap. “I’m here, nothing bad is going to happen.”

Thomas gave him a withering look; “You do think highly of yourself.”

Jimmy just grinned, pleased that Thomas felt well enough to be unpleasant. He opened the door and nudged Thomas inside where the under-butler stared at the bathtub warily, as if it was an unpredictable dog that might turn and bite him at any moment. Jimmy turned the hot tap on full and pulled the hamper over to the bath - he placed the cigs, soap and towels there for easy access. Thomas leaned against the tiles, fingers itching for a cigarette.

“Let me take your bandages off,” Jimmy said - Thomas held his arms out for Jimmy to tend to. The horizontal slashes underneath still looked angry, despite the twice-daily application of ointment. “Does it hurt?”

“Not much,” Thomas shrugged, his eyes still on the almost-full bathtub. He didn’t look at his wrists once.

“Try not to soak them in the water,” Jimmy added. He turned off the tap and checked the temperature - hot enough to have steamed the mirror and the patterned glass window, but not scalding. Jimmy started to undress then stopped when he noticed Thomas wasn’t moving.

“One traditionally takes their clothes off when bathing,” he said. Thomas scowled but carefully removed his undershirt. Jimmy was down to his union suit but he wanted to get Thomas in to the bath before he was completely naked.

“Turn around or something,” Thomas said shortly.

“I’ve been helping you use a bedpan,” Jimmy retorted, “not much I haven’t seen now.”

Thomas huffed and crossed his arms so Jimmy capitulated. He heard fabric fall to the floor then the splashing of Thomas settling into the bath. Jimmy stripped out of his union suit, no such shame at being naked, even if he was a fair deal thinner than he had been when he was last at Downton. He climbed in the other end of the bath, hissing at the heat of the water. Thomas had his arms hanging over the sides, his head back against the rim, his eyes closed.

“You alright?” Jimmy asked. He stretched his legs out and settled them against Thomas’s.

“Hmm,” Thomas sighed, “as I’ll ever be. Shame I’ve ruined baths for myself.”

“Then we’ll have to get one of those shower things in our place instead,” Jimmy replied. He leaned over the edge of bath and fetched two cigarettes; he stuck them between his lips and lit both before handing one off to Thomas.

“D’ya have a fortune you’ve neglected to tell me about then?” Thomas said, a halo of smoke curling around his head. “Wait, _our_ place?”

“Y’know, if you decide to leave the Abbey an’...come with me to London,” Jimmy said. “We don’t have to. We can stay here if that’s what you want. They won’t sack you now, surely?”

“I’ve earned a bit of grace I’d say, but pity won’t keep me safe forever. My head’s for the axe an’ that’s for sure,” he exhaled little smoke rings into the air.

“Then we can go wherever you want, I’m not married to the idea of London,” Jimmy put out his cig in the bath water with a fizzle and cast it over the edge. “I am married to you though.”

“Soppy,” Thomas said, but he smiled around his cigarette. “If only we could.”

“If only. An’ we don’t have to decide anything yet,” Jimmy rummaged around for the soap - it was under his legs and had half-dissolved in the hot water. “Just focus on feeling better,” he said, lathering his hair.

Thomas watched him with one eye cracked open, then said; “If a month ago someone had told me that I’d be sharing a bath with Jimmy Kent and discussing our future I’d have said they were completely loopy.”

“So would I to be honest,” Jimmy said, lavender from the soap burning his nose, “but sometimes it takes something drastic like to make you see what’s good for ya.”

“So something good came of it then,” Thomas shrugged.

“Don’t,” Jimmy said - it hurt too much to hear Thomas be blasé about it, “not even I’m worth _that_.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said, “for what it’s worth I’m very sorry.”

“As I’ve said, you’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for. You’re not well - s’alright though, we’ll get through it,” Jimmy reached out and took Thomas’s hand. “I’m always gonna be here for you now, no matter what.”

“I’m going to have to teach you to be discreet then,” Thomas smirked, “or you’ll end up arrested the way you’re going.”

“We’re alright here,” he said, “an’ they think I’m just being a concerned friend.”

They sat in silence for a while, Thomas smoking another cigarette and Jimmy washing first himself, then Thomas, with the rapidly diminishing bar of soap.

“Are you - are you ever going to tell me?” Jimmy said apropos of nothing.

“Yes,” Thomas said, “but - not in here. Not - not yet.”

Jimmy nodded. He could wait.

“You’re thin,” Thomas pointed his cigarette at Jimmy’s protruding ribs.

“Yeah, money’s been a bit tight. I were out of work for a while and,” Jimmy looked away, the memory of what he’d had to do still painful, “by the time I’d paid rent there weren’t much left for food.” He left out the part about being a homeless catamite.

Thomas frowned then and said; “If you’d asked me I’d have sent you some money.”

“I know, that’s why I didn’t ask,” Jimmy replied, “I didn’t deserve it.”

“Jimmy,” Thomas said, shaking his head.

“No, I mean it,” Jimmy insisted, “I was awful to you and you did nothing but good to me.”

“Wasn’t all good,” Thomas said, referring to _that_ kiss.

“And, hypocrite I was, I made you suffer for it when I was just like you. But not entirely like you because you’re - you’re a good person. You have so much to give - you’re funny and clever and sharp and kind and _good_. You’re like a light in a shuttered room, fighting against the darkness,” he stopped, gathering himself, “an’ I’m just nothing. I’m empty Thomas, I’m an empty vase. Pretty and smooth and nice to look at but I’m a _void_. Or worse - like a whitewashed tomb, full of dead men’s bones.”

Thomas sat up in the bath and regarded Jimmy uneasily.

“Jimmy, what happened in London?”

“Lots of things,” Jimmy looked away, suddenly very aware of his nakedness. “London‘s like that. Things happening all over, all the time, an’ if you ain’t careful it’ll run right over you, will London.”

“Did it run you down Jimmy?” Thomas asked. He always was one for pointed questions.

“Yes,” Jimmy said. It was honesty now or else later. Better to rip the sticking plaster off before he got too hopeful, too comfortable, too in love. Better to lose something now than everything later. “I was homeless for a bit, eating out of bins and sometimes at the church when they were giving out food to the poor. But it got to the point where I were goin’ to starve or else catch me death.”

Thomas’s expression had been schooled into careful neutrality, but the way he gripped the side of the tub with bone-white fingers betrayed his inner turmoil.

“One evening I saw this young lad, probably a good ten years younger than me, standing on the corner and just smiling at folk as they passed. I watched him for a bit, once I caught on like, and I saw how easy he found folk - or how easy they found him - an’ I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about how simple and quick it would be an’ then I’d have a full belly an’ a warm bed. I mean I’d done it with Anstruther, hadn’t I? Rented meself out to her for a roof over me head for years.” Jimmy couldn’t bring himself to meet Thomas’s eyes, afraid of what he’d find there.

“So I did it. I were pretty enough to be popular with all sorts. Men and women, but men mainly as seems _our sort_ are the ones most likely to be lookin’ to pay for it. It’s funny how many people who claim to be lookin’ for love are actually lookin’ for someone to hurt though.” That had been a quick and hard-learned lesson, the first time a man had blacked his eyes and finished himself off with a heavy hand on Jimmy’s throat.

Silence, except the drip of the tap and the slosh of water against the side of the bath. When Jimmy finally dared to look up at Thomas he found his face open and broken, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“I’ll go shall I?” Jimmy asked, heaving himself up out of the water - he’d braved himself to expect disgust and rejection, even if he’d hoped for different. Suddenly Thomas grasped his wrist and stopped him.

“Sit, stay, listen,” Thomas said and Jimmy did as he was bid - he wanted to sit, to stay, to listen, when Thomas asked it of him with nothing but love on his face and in his voice.

“Come here,” Thomas commanded. Punters had shouted those words at Jimmy countless times, equal parts threatening and licentious, but the way Thomas said it was irreconcilable with his previous experiences; Thomas made the command soft and caring and lovely.

Jimmy let himself be pulled between Thomas’s bare legs and pressed up against his naked chest, water roiling up over the side of the bath in a great wave. They were nude and wet and warm and perfumed with heady lavender, but there was nothing concupiscent about it, no motive on Thomas’s part other than comfort.

“What you did - I, I did it too, in a way,” Thomas said, “there were times as a footman, when guests would ask for things and I wasn’t in a position to say no, was I? One bad word from them and I’d have been sacked. So I said yes, and I did whatever they wanted, and then I’d go and take a scalding hot bath. But nothing ever washes the shame off, does it?”

“I scrubbed my skin until it bled an’ that didn’t do it,” Jimmy said into Thomas’s chest.

“Thing is, we don’t have anythin’ to be ashamed of,” Thomas raked his fingers through Jimmy’s wet hair. “We aren’t the ones that did anythin’ shameful. It were them what used us and hurt us when we didn’t have a choice that should be ashamed.”

“I had a choice,” Jimmy said, “and I chose not to starve to death.”

“And I chose not to be sacked with no reference,” Thomas countered, “which is the same thing really. And who can blame us for that?”

“God I s’pose,” Jimmy said, then added; “though don’t care much what he thinks, if he’s there at all.”

“If God’s condemning all those what do something sinful to survive, hell will be fit to burst by now.”

“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” Jimmy said.

“That we are.”

“But we are a _pair_ now, aren’t we?”

Thomas gave him a small smile. “We are.”

Jimmy smiled back. “Then all that shite we’ve been through - one day soon it’ll be the past and all we’ll have to worry about it what we want to do with the future.”

“I didn’t think I had a future, or I couldn’t see it at least,” Thomas replied, “but now - with you,” his eyes were glassy but hopeful, “maybe I can.”

“Thomas,” Jimmy took his hand between his own, “you are my future.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently ‘The Cottage With The Blue Door‘ series is so indelibly etched into my brain that I always go straight to Jimmy = rent boy so I apologise for that. Also another bathtub fic whoops looks like I have a kink.


End file.
